


Just to Say That We Did It

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Light Dom/sub if you really squint, Love/Hate, Post-Season/Series 02, Semi-Public Sex, bad decisions tbh, with allusions to s3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: “Didn’t think you’d be back,” Wynonna states coolly, and Rosita’s lips flutter at the hint of a smile.“Think about me a lot?” The response is clever and quick and classic Rosita, and Wynonna doesn’t really do friends, but she thinks she and Rosita could have gotten along if it weren’t for the whole betrayal thing. Shame.





	Just to Say That We Did It

**Author's Note:**

> So I had been reading some Wynonna/Rosita fics and reflecting over how much I underappreciated Rosita when we had her on the show, as well as how interesting the S2 finale plot twist was. I originally didn't like it and found it out of character, but I do understand where she was coming from and think it opens her up to be a far more complex, fleshed out character with real feelings.  
> I also happened to be listening to the song "Better Off" by Ariana Grande, and I was inspired.

_ I’d rather your body than half of your heart, _

_ Let’s put them topics to bed and go fuck on the roof _

_ Just to say that we did it _

_ I’m better off without you _

_ I’m better off being a wild one. _

  
  


Rosita Bustillos is the last person Wynonna Earp expected to see at 3 AM, in the back alley between bars on the edge of Purgatory. She had to drive twenty minutes out from the homestead to get here, car stuttering on dirt roads where booze bottles serve as pavement, but the desolation is worth it. It’s quieter and a little eerier than other parts of town, partly because less people live here and also because Wynonna can see over the town line. While she knows Purgatory like the back of her hand, she has no idea what demons live in the houses down the road. She guesses they’re likely all human, and that’s almost scarier because in her town, at least Wynonna knows how to end it. Whether she  _ can,  _ that’s a different question. 

When Rosita steps into view under the streetlights, Wynonna curses loud enough Wynonna doesn’t know how she’s back— she’d never left Purgatory, of course, but still, she didn’t imagine they’d cross paths anytime soon—  and she doesn’t know why she’s back, standing all firm jaw and glitter eyes and dark curls before her, gorgeous. It’s the first word that comes into Wynonna’s mind when she sees her—  _ gorgeous _ — followed by evil, fittingly, since all she can see when she meets her gaze is the malice that flickered in them the day she tried to steal her baby. Her Alice. 

She also notices how bright her eyes are despite their subtle chocolate brown, ordinary but sparkling something different, and then she remembers all too well how they glowed red when faced with Peacemaker that cold day in Shorty’s saloon. 

Wynonna is in Rosita’s space within seconds, face so close she can almost taste her breath, and she’s moving fast, impulsive. She should be calculating her choices because god knows it’s all she’s done in the months this woman has been away, on the run or in hiding or whatever, and she had a lot of snarky, venom-filled comments prepared under the tip of her tongue for the perfect moment when she’d see her face again.

It’s not like she imagined, though. She feels wildly unprepared.

She doesn’t pull out Peacemaker. She convinces herself it’s because it’d be too predictable of a move, but she knows there’s another reason entirely. She’s never been good with feelings, though, so she ignores it.

    “Didn’t think you’d be back,” Wynonna states coolly, and Rosita’s lips flutter at the hint of a smile.

    “Think about me a lot?” The response is clever and quick and classic Rosita, and Wynonna doesn’t really do friends, but she thinks she and Rosita could have gotten along if it weren’t for the whole betrayal thing. Shame. 

    “Yeah, actually, I’ve been fantasizing quite a bit about what it’d be like to make you pay for what you did to me and my  _ family,” _ she spits out the last word with more intention than she’d planned, but pride runs up her spine, through her chest and into her lungs. It’s true, she has a family. Sometimes she forgets that even if she isn’t with Alice, she’s still out there and she’s still her mother.

There’s too much to be said, and it’s not going to be dealt with, not now and not even if Waverly locked them both in therapy and threw away the key. They both know this, and the knowledge that things will never be resolved, not really, hangs heavy in the air. It’s Purgatory after all, and they both know how this dance goes. Wynonna dies and the curse lands in Alice’s hands, or Rosita gets to watch as Wynonna aims Peacemaker at her forehead and shoots, intentional and necessary, no matter what either of them want. Rosita doesn’t know Wynonna as well as she should, being a revenant and all, while also shtupping her baby daddy slash great-great-grandfather’s best friend. The complications go on and on, and they both know they’re not the best at coping. 

Wynonna stares at her and Rosita does the same, unwavering, eyes kind of sizing her up in a way that Wynonna can’t pretend she doesn’t notice or like— and she can’t pretend she isn’t doing the same for her, because this woman knows how to dress. Fishnets peek out from the hem of her ripped denim jeans and her lips are a dark red. She thinks her styling may be intentional. 

    “I’m surprised you’re not running for the hills,” Wynonna says. “You know I got a gun on me.”

    “I know,” Rosita responds. “I also know you’ve got so much liquor in you that you can’t even shoot straight.”

    “You daring me?” Wynonna says, and this time she does pull out Peacemaker. It lights up instantly, orange and red flames coating the end, but Rosita doesn’t flinch. Wynonna also doesn’t put her finger on the trigger.

    “Inebriation has never stopped me before,” she says, and she’s stepping closer before she even really knows what she’s doing. “You should know that, right, Rosie?”

Her hand comes up to touch a strand of her hair, loose out of her ponytail. Her hand brushes light against her warm cheek, and she thinks about slapping her. She could. She doesn’t. 

    “I’m a straight shooter, always,” she continues, rambling. “It’s my job, and I’m going to take you down with me because I have to. And maybe I would have tried not to, but then you went and betrayed me.”

It could be an opening for discussion, but her hand is on Rosita’s cheek now, firm and trailing down to her shoulder, and neither of them have the urge to fight.

    “Wynonna,” Rosita says, and it’s not a demand or a question or anything at all, really. Dirt shifts under her boots as she takes a step closer, and she stares down Wynonna’s lips, obvious. 

    “What do you want?” Wynonna asks, voice breathy, because she couldn’t really care for the answer. She knows it, after all, and while she’d like to hear her say it and she’d certainly enjoy a confession, she isn’t betting on it. 

    “What do  _ you  _ want?” Rosita counters. Her hand is on Wynonna’s waist, slinging around her back and pushing close, and there’s only a moment of hesitation, of confirmation while they lock eyes, closer than they’ve ever been.

Wynonna’s the one to lurch in to kiss her, and it surprises both of them, despite the obvious tension in the air. 

Rosita moans easily and her lips are gentler than Wynonna would have expected. Still chapped and rough, but full and soft, except when they’re not.

They move in a rush, like Wynonna’s going to pull out her gun at any moment, and maybe she is; Wynonna likes the idea of Rosita being afraid, but she’s making too many noises and she thinks she’s giving herself away, making Rosita feel too safe. It’s ironic and twisted and Wynonna should really make it known that she isn’t a force to be reckoned with, but something in the way Rosita is panting and looking at her— a little mesmerized and maybe, just _ maybe _ a little afraid— makes her think she’s well aware of that, too. 

    “Roof,” Rosita says roughly, and she has to repeat herself a few times before Wynonna really gets what she’s implying. Even when she does, she gives her a confused look.

Rosita pulls away from the crook of her neck just as Wynonna’s hands slip up her shirt.

    “You’ve never fucked a girl,” she breathes, and it’s almost an insult.

Wynonna’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who says I’m fucking you?”

Rosita tilts her head, takes a step back to examine the sight before. Wynonna’s hair is already mussed, her shirt is halfway off her shoulders, and her neck is already bruised with a hickey. Her hands grip her belt buckle, frozen in the process of removing it. 

    “Are you not?

Wynonna lets out a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. She steps into Rosita’s space again, moving her hair behind her shoulders and letting her eyes search her body darkly, obviously. Rosita’s cheeks burn under her gaze.

    “Oh no, I absolutely am,” she replies, voice a low hum. “But on the roof?” 

She wants to judge her for it, but in all honesty, it’s a fantastic, fitting idea, especially for them.

    “Why not? You scared?” Rosita asks, lifting her head just a little from the valley between Wynonna’s breasts. God, this woman knows what to do, and her pants aren’t even off yet. Wynonna really wishes she sucked at this, wishes she didn’t run her tongue across her lips constantly, reminiscing on the taste of her kiss and longing for it again. 

    “You’re the one who should be scared,” Wynonna says. “Your hand is dangerously close to my pistol.”

    “Oh, I know,” Rosita says, eyes flickering towards Peacemaker only for a second, and her eyes shine dangerous, daring, before she undoes the top button of Wynonna’s jeans and slips her hand inside, fast and impatient. Wynonna moans a swear, loud. Rosita chuckles. 

    “That close enough?” she asks, taunting, when her fingers circle her clit. Wynonna’s eyes dart around for the nearest stairs as she bucks against her hand, greedy for friction, and Rosita notices.

    “You like my roof idea now, huh?” 

Wynonna shrugs around a touch that sends shivers up her spine. “It’s a story to tell.”

Rosita’s finger presses hard against her entrance, sudden. “No one knows about this,” she says firmly, and this time Wynonna does scoff. 

    “Yeah, I know, it’s a figure of speech, rev. You think I’m gonna go home and tell Waverly I banged the woman she drunkenly kissed in a hot tub?”

Rosita flushes. “That was-”

Wynonna holds up a hand. “I don’t want to think about my little sister right now.  _ Stairs,  _ or are we going to have to scale the brick?”

    “You brought her up.” Rosita rolls her eyes. “Around the building, to the left.” The relief is audible in her voice. She pulls her hand away and Wynonna bites back a groan before following her. 

    “Thought about this before?” she comments as she climbs up behind her, taking the opportunity to smack her butt with her palm on the way up. Rosita laughs. 

    “Not really, no, but I like spontaneity,” she replies, pulling off her shirt and laying it on the hard concrete beneath them. 

    “Yeah, I learned that when you knocked Waverly out and tried to-” Rosita cuts her off with a hard kiss to her collarbone. She was standing before her undressing one moment and then pressed against her the next, and Wynonna can’t complain. Her anger both dissolves and manifests in her touch; she claws hard at Rosita’s back with her nails and smiles when she feels teeth at her neck.

    “You’re not a vampire too, are you?” she musters out, and Rosita mumbles a “what?” against her flesh.

    “Never mind, long story, not now.”

If Rosita is a sight to behold in clothes, she’s something else entirely when she’s naked. Sprawled out haphazardly on a pile of jackets and jeans, she spreads her legs and Wynonna slips between them like a moth drawn to a flame, like her movements and her whines and her release is something she needs, because maybe it is. Rosita’s hands grip tight in Wynonna’s hair when she sucks at her clit and her fingertips smooth down her shoulders when she presses two fingers in, sure, and Rosita rides out her climax like it’s both a reward and a punishment.

Wynonna knows how to make her beg, how to tease and endure and wait and give, and Rosita can do it just as well when she has her flipped, half in her lap and half on the concrete. The clothes make a shitty blanket and Wynonna’s given up on caring, even when the gravel scrapes at her back. Rosita nips at her thighs, a surprising mix of teeth and tongue and kiss and sweetness, despite everything. She muses encouragement when Wynonna’s close to coming, enough to make her think that maybe she misjudged her, but the power of lust is fogging her brain. Rosita keeps her waiting, follows gentle laps of her tongue with harsh presses of her fingers, and Wynonna both loves it and hates it. She both loves and hates  _ Rosita.  _

Sex is power. They both know this. Whoever won this battle, it isn’t clear, but they both leave the night behind, parting separate ways and thinking that things may be at least a little better now than they were before. Perhaps they’re drastically, awfully worse, because sex can ruin things, too— Doc is only one example out of many.

Still, after knowing how the other falls apart under moonlight, beautiful and twisted and for their eyes only, the former seems more likely.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr at my blog under the same username, sweeterthankarma.


End file.
